


Fraternization

by CorsetJinx



Series: We never asked to be heroes [8]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alcohol, Ishgardian parties suck, M/M, Mild Smut, Racism, References to Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 17:18:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13171578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorsetJinx/pseuds/CorsetJinx
Summary: The party’s in full swing and yet it’s the most uninteresting gala he can remember. Fortunately there’s cause for distraction.





	Fraternization

The bar for attending a formal function among the common nobles and the High Houses had never been set particularly high in M'arach’s book. He expected it to be all the pomp and circumstance of a parade in the warmer southern climes, only freezing cold outside and with none of the good food or fun. So far he’d been right about the _pomp_. For all the strict religious solemnity of Ishgard, the nobles were fond of shirts with plenty of puff in the sleeves.

_And_ their wine. By the _Twelve_ , he’d never seen so much _wine_.

Perhaps there _was_ a kernel of truth to the stereotype for elezen - at least when it came to the love of good drink.

If only the wine he was currently sipping tasted a mite less _bitter_. He gamely took another sip, nodding his head to the third curious Lady to cast her gaze his way. Perhaps air had gotten into the barrel as they’d aged the wine. Or it had been knocked about. Or the cold had something to do with it.

He wasn’t a connoisseur of wines, so it could have been any of those things.

“You look as though you suspect someone might pull a knife at you.” A low, mild voice dragged his attention back to the present.

His ear twitched, perking to catch the sound of that pleasantly familiar tone. He turned, the smile he aimed at Count Edmont’s eldest son the easiest one he’d conjured all evening.

“It would not be the first time I’ve witnessed such a thing, Your Grace.” M'arach raised his glass in a little toast, not particularly caring if that was proper etiquette or not. He flicked at ear at Artoirel, smile softening. “But I assure you - if someone were to try they would find me sober and ready to fight.”

“Well met.” Artoirel toasted him as well, the faint curve of his eyes suggesting a smile. He looked at home among the proceedings - tall, dark haired, dressed in the colors of his House. Privately, M'arach agreed that red looked splendid on the man. And with his long hair down, _well_. “Have you managed to enjoy yourself at all, between your vigil and being a wallflower?”

M'arach felt his ears stand up, tail pausing in its swaying. Artoirel's tone was easy and soft, free - or doing an excellent job at seeming so - of the political wordmongering prevalent among Ishgardians. He was even smiling plainly now, amused.

“It is a tiring trade,” M'arach folded his ears close to his skull, lifting his hand to press it against his temple. “But your company hath restored me.”

Before he could really think about it, he shot the elezen a wink. It only occurred to him as Artoirel's brows slowly lifted that perhaps he should have quashed the urge.

_Ishgardians_. Every look had _some_ kind of angle behind it, or so it seemed. No one smiled or talked to each other without some alternative goal in mind.

“I’m sorry.” M'arach didn’t have to pretend to lower his ears this time. His tail pressed itself to the line of his leg, attempting to be invisible. “I’m not used to… I meant no offense.”

“None taken.” Artoirel favored him with another smile, his stance relaxing a bit. As though a weight had been lifted. “Truth be told, your candor is… uplifting.”

It took a moment for him to recall exactly _what_ candor meant. And another to process the compliment. He perked up just a little, tail twitching hopefully.

“You are not enjoying the festivities, I take it?” Artoirel surmised, the look in his dark eyes knowing.

Again his inclination towards honesty got the better of him before he could stop it. “There is little to be said for being an object of curiosity.” He glanced past the young lord to take in the crowd, one ear folding back to show distaste. “It calls to mind being pinned behind glass and whispered about.”

There weren’t many miquo'te in Ishgard, of _either_ tribe. Too cold, really. Too cloudy for his people, who sought after the warmth of the sun - or the sister tribe who worshiped the moon. The blatant mistrust, if not direct _hate_ , towards outsiders didn’t help.

Artoirel’s features softened. He looked almost sorry, which was silly. One man alone could not overturn a thousand years of isolationist customs - though his family and the Lord Commander Aymeric de Borel had certainly done their best.

“Might I assist in finding you a better drink?” Artoirel’s smile made a careful reappearance. “It will not cure all ills, but it may make the evening easier to endure.”

It was almost impossible not to smile back.

“Yes _please_.” He sighed with relief, trying not to seem too eager to be rid of his current glass. The way Artoirel had to repress a chuckle made him think that he’d failed in being subtle.

“A moment.” Artoirel winked, heedless of the heat that one little action brought to M'arach’s cheeks. He disappeared into the crowd, leaving him alone in his spot by the wall. Not for long, at least. The young lord emerged victorious, a new cup in each hand. He offered one to M'arach as he stepped into the little sphere of quiet the astrologian had managed to find.

“Bless you.” M'arach drank gratefully, very much pleased by the change. He wasn’t aware of Artoirel’s gaze on him until he’d drained a portion of his glass, a happy sigh leaving him.

He flushed, tail twitching madly behind him. “Sorry.”

“No need.” The smile on the young lord’s features was pure amusement. “I am pleased to know that I chose well.”

He paused, brows furrowing as though some thought plagued him. M'arach waited, taking smaller - more _socially acceptable_ \- sips of his wine.

“There are other rooms besides this one.” Artoirel said carefully, swirling the contents of his cup. “They might offer a little more peace and quiet than our current location.”

M'arach swallowed, glancing towards the crowd. Somewhere in there was Count Edmont and Artoirel’s brother, Emmanellain. There was also his _own_ companions - Anemone, Alphinaud and whoever else had decided to make an appearance before Ishgard’s finest. If he strained hard enough he might be able to catch a glimpse of Aymeric or his second, Lucia.

A pity that Haurchefant had declined, but perhaps that was considered the norm for those born out of wedlock among the High Houses. Even if it was, in no uncertain terms, evident that Edmont thought well of his illegitimate son.

“That would be…” he began slowly, turning words over in his mind. The wine made it a little tricky. He knew what _some_ parts of him would say. Still, better _not_ to assume. “Appreciated.” M'arach finished at last, tail curling a little. He smiled tentatively, hoping he hadn’t misread the question.

The pleased look on Artoirel’s face gave him some hope. They each sipped their wine, and when the cups were empty Artoirel led the way from the room. M'arach followed, measuring his steps carefully so as not to appear too eager. Quiet settled in as they stepped out into the hall - a blessed relief to M'arach’s ears and his nose. Lacking the crush of many bodies and the mix of perfumes, the hall smelled clean.

He followed Artoirel’s shadow to a door several turns down a different hall, tip of his tail flicking in anticipation. A glance up and down confirmed that they were still alone. Reaching for the door before it could fully close he darted inside, turning the latch to be doubly sure there wouldn’t be any unpleasant surprises.

His ears perked, catching the tread of the other’s feet over the carpet. Turning around, he quirked a brow at the hesitant air surrounding the young lord.

“You are not offended?” Artoirel looked hopeful, bless him, his cheeks and the tips of his long ears faintly pink.

His tail flicked again, curling in amusement. “If I _was_ ,” he chuckled, “then your shirt may have done an excellent job of catching a glass of wine.”

That seemed to take an edge off of the worry furrowing the elezen’s brow.

“It would have made a valiant effort.” Artoirel concurred, closing the distance between them. His hand lifted, pausing just before he could actually make contact. He looked conflicted, eyeing the subtle shift of M'arach’s ears.

“Forgive me, I’m not… I should like to avoid as much offense as possible.”

The fact that he even considered such social graces was touching. _Thoroughly_ endearing.

“They’re ears,” M'arach assured, taking the elezen’s hand. “Same as yours. Fluffy,” he admitted after a beat, “But still ears.” He guided Artoirel’s hand up to one, letting his fingers brush over the thick tufted fur. It tickled, true, but it wasn’t unpleasant.

Artoirel relaxed, smiling a little as he stroked the rise of his ear without being led to.

“So long as you don’t pull my tail,” M'arach hummed, warmth creeping down his back. “We won’t have a problem. Fair enough?”

“I believe so, yes.” Artoirel chuckled, calloused fingers moving to stroke his cheek.

_Good_ , M'arach thought. He wasted no time in curling his fingers into the overly frilly collar of Artoirel’s shirt and pulled him down for a kiss. The elezen made a little noise of surprise, his mouth sweet from the wine. He pressed back into the kiss after a moment, as eager as M'arach hoped he’d be.

There was a decent enough couch in one corner of the room. It held his weight when Artoirel pushed him onto it, all hesitancy gone as he eased long fingers between the layers of his clothes. The callouses on his hands were different from M'arach’s own - thicker, their source from a sword and shield rather than magic. It felt nice, truthfully.

_“Patience.”_ Artoirel chuckled, putting a stop to his squirming with a hand pinning his own above his head. His other one was busy between M'arach’s legs, making his breath catch and his toes curl.

He shook his head, leaning up as far as he could to kiss him again.

Not a _terrible_ sort of party, he supposed. Definitely room for improvement.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm surprised by the lack of Artoirel content. Ah well, that's what self indulgent things are for.


End file.
